


Time and Motion

by concernedlily



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, Grappling Hook Pistol, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concernedlily/pseuds/concernedlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of Galahad and Kay, superspies in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Motion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missbecky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/gifts).



**7.00am**

The alarm rings and Eggsy reaches out without opening his eyes and knocks his phone onto the floor, where it carries on making the godforsaken non-late-night-respecting noise.

“Can you turn that off,” Harry gripes next to him. He hooks a leg over both of Eggsy’s and sticks his head under the pillow. 

“I’m trying!” Eggsy says. He leans over the bed and feels along the power cord, trying to drag the screeching phone closer to him.

“You’re very trying,” Harry says, muffled.

“What do you want me to do, shoot it?” Eggsy says. He gets the phone and swipes it on while still hanging over the bed, shutting the sound off, then hoicks himself back onto the bed and accidentally-on-purpose right onto Harry, who makes a martyrish grumbling noise and puts his arms around Eggsy.

“That happened _once_.”

~

**8.15am**

The phone rings with Merlin’s tone and Harry puts his comb and pomade down and picks it up.

“We’re just on our way,” he lies without remorse. “Traffic’s dreadful.”

“According to your GPS,” Merlin says, “you’re doing your fucking hair and Eggsy isn’t even out of bed.”

“If only we could all pull off the slaphead look as marvellously as you,” Harry says, suffusing his tone with tragedy and regret. “I’d be in on time every day.”

“Chance would be a fine bloody thing. If he’s not up in five minutes I’m sending a shock through his signet, fair warning.” Harry can hear him start typing away again.

“I do enjoy these morning chats,” Harry says. He runs a bit of water over his comb and looks again at the little curly bit that always flops over at the front, leaning closer to the mirror. “They’re very bracing.”

“Fuck off. Tell you what, you’re going to be that late you can nip into Fortnum’s and get a cake. It’s Caroline’s birthday, I completely forgot, Alex came in early with balloons and all sorts of shite.”

“Fine,” he says and rings off. He shouts through the door, “Eggsy, darling, are you getting out of bed? Merlin's just been on the phone in hysterics. Says he’s shocking the ring in five minutes.”

“I’ll take it off!”

“Good man,” Harry says, and picks up his aftershave.

~

**8.20am**

Harry wanders back into the bedroom and says, “Are you getting up? We’ve to stop for a cake on the way to the shop.”

“You’ve done something different with your hair,” Eggsy says, squinting up at Harry, sleek and neat in his red dressing gown in that way that never fails to make Eggsy want to mess him up. He wriggles down into the nice warm bedsheets, stretching kittenishly-flexible and luxurious, and grins at the way Harry’s eyes go dark.

“Mm. It’s my partner, he’s very young and demanding. Have to keep him on his toes.”

“Shall I show you demanding?” Eggsy says slyly, and flips the covers off.

~

**Voicemail left 9.00am**

_I know you haven’t left yet, you dirty articles. I have a space laser and I can point it at your house._

~

**10.00am**

“Shall we go up to the Parlour for breakfast?” Eggsy says. He picks up a jar of honey so thick and dark it looks more like treacle, examines it, and puts it into the basket Harry is carrying, currently resplendent with a decadently large chocolate cake and - apology slash bribery - the very expensive Colombian coffee Merlin loves and is too Scottish to buy for himself.

Harry watches him, and then becomes aware he’s sporting a very silly grin. Eggsy is wearing a particularly lovely new black linen with a faint pink pinstripe with charming insouciance, his tie at a rakish angle, his glasses pulling off the difficult trick of making him look both boyish and masterly. He’s entirely at ease in his smart surroundings, as comfortable and content as Harry could ever have wished for him.

Harry transfers the basket to one hand and offers his other arm to Eggsy, who gives him a startled, sweet smile, and tucks his hand into the crook of Harry’s elbow. “Why not?”

~

**Noon**

"Here's your cake," Eggsy says. He surveys Merlin's desk at HQ for an emptyish spot and, unable to find one, drops the bag unceremoniously on the least precarious pile of papers available. 

"What time do you call this?" Merlin says.

Eggsy makes wide eyes and checks his watch with a flourish. "Looks like about twelve to me."

"You have actually made Galahad's habits worse," Merlin says sorrowfully. "I hoped he'd want to set you a good example, but no."

"Mate, you're breaking my heart."

"Be off," Merlin says and bounces a screwed-up post-it off Eggsy's forehead. "Some of us have work to do."

"You owe Harry twenty-five quid for the cake," Eggsy says, brushing his hands off on his trousers. "Coffee's our little present to you. To improve your temper."

He stops on his way out of the tech complex to make an elaborate fuss of Caroline - "you don't look a day over thirty!" - and heads for the gym.

~

**2.00pm**

Harry finishes reviewing the new alias the Identity team have put together for him and takes his glasses off, rubbing at the scar tissue over his right eye. There's so much detail these days, digital records and surveillance and internet histories to be faked, a far cry from his early years as an agent when turning up and making up a name on the spot was good enough in a pinch.

He smiles when another set of warm fingers nudge his out of the way and take over, stroking over the numb twist of flesh and digging in nicely to the other temple, soothing the ache. It's odd how since the injury he can focus and carry on as well as he ever could in the field - even somewhat better with a sharp new awareness of his own mortality nipping at his heels - but a couple of hours of paperwork can leave him sore and snappish.

"Hello," he says, tipping his head back against Eggsy's solid chest, and Eggsy bends to him for a lingering upside-down kiss. It's rather a novel sensation and Harry puts his hand up into the soft fall of Eggsy's hair, cradling his head, and takes slow ownership of Eggsy's mouth, tracing the full Cupid's bow with his tongue and then pushing inside to taste. Eggsy sighs and slides his hand down Harry's body, clever fingers slotting between the placket of Harry's shirt so his fingertips can stroke Harry's skin.

"Hiya," Eggsy murmurs and his slow self-satisfied grin makes Harry seriously consider locking the door and spending a bit of time refreshing their research on how best to fit two entwined full-grown men on his office sofa.

"Good day at the office, darling?" Harry says, as if he and Eggsy hadn't parted only a couple of hours ago. Eggsy comes round and leans against the desk in front of him. "What have you been up to? You've changed your tie."

Eggsy holds the tie out and they both contemplate it. It's silk, of course, smooth and cool to the touch, a rather flashy lavender with a wide-scale geometric pattern in slate grey: the tailoring department are enjoying having a young, handsome new agent to dress, although not half as much as their delight at finally being able to design for a woman.

"Alexandra in Merlin's team gave it to me," Eggsy says, flips it over and pokes his finger in the gap at the back to show Harry the slender high-tensile wiring wound there. "It's a hundred feet, and the knot has a grappling hook. Pretty nifty, yeah? Brand new gear."

"What will they think of next?" Harry says. He draws his finger up and onto the knot, then around the collar, tripping delicately onto the skin of Eggsy's throat and enjoying his shiver, his gorgeous green eyes going heavy-lidded. "Hang on a minute. Does that mean the knot comes already tied?"

"I told them you wouldn't like it," Eggsy says, and his cheeky grin is so lovely Harry thinks it's perfectly understandable that he has to pull Eggsy close and kiss him again.

~

**3.00pm**

The Arabic vocab list Eggsy is studying ready for his conversational class tomorrow reminds him of something and he taps his glasses into IM mode, picks Harry out from his list of contacts, and scrawls _can you put chicken thighs and rosemary on the shopping list_ on the air in front of him. There's a pause while the software parses the movement and then the message scrolls out neatly and Eggsy does a thumbs up to signal it to send.

He's planning to make a new dish on Sunday. Harry will sit at the table and chat to him while Eggsy potters round cooking, praise it even if it tastes shit, hold Eggsy's hand in between mains and afters, and then they'll have a nice full lie down, then blowjobs, then Antiques Roadshow and hot chocolate. Lovely Sunday routine, the furthest thing from the chaos of the flat with Mum and Dean and the baby which usually ended up with hungover rows on Sunday and Eggsy sloping off to spend the evening getting ratted again with Ryan and Jamal.

A smiley blinks on the air in front of Eggsy and he grins at it before flicking it away from his screen and going back to his books.

~

**4.32pm**

"Here's as much of a briefing as we've got," Merlin says, coming down to meet Harry and shoving a set of handwritten papers at him as he jogs up to the jet. "Eggsy should be - ah, there you are, lad. Onto the plane with you both. We'll update you with the latest on the way."

"Cheers, guv," Eggsy says, and shoots Harry a look full of excitement; while he's flourishing as a knight, Harry hasn't managed to swing nearly as many operations with them both together as he would have liked and Eggsy loves having the chance to show off his skills.

"Shall we?" Harry says. He takes the papers from Merlin, hooks his favourite Rainmaker over his wrist, and guides Eggsy up the steps with a hand lightly on the small of his back.

~

**11.45pm**

The good news is, Alex's hook and rope tie works: top class piece of kit, A+, would jump out of window with again. 

The bad news is, Eggsy's right forearm is scraped raw ending with a livid bloody ligature mark round his wrist where he'd dangled 5'10"1/2 of Eggsy Unwin off the wrapped steel - and his left shoulder is dislocated and agonising where he'd dangled 6'1" of Harry Hart off his other hand.

He taps his glasses again while he waits for Harry to hurry round and let him out of the car (hotwired in under 30 seconds by Harry; not bad, not bad at all, memory to be revisited when Eggsy is feeling better and his right hand is co-operating again) but the EMP completely fried them. He didn't know what he was expecting: half the bloody city is still dark and the other half is panicking.

"Lean on me," Harry says, helping Eggsy out of the car. His expression and voice are brisk, but his hands on Eggsy's body are incredibly gentle as he puts his arm round Eggsy's waist and encourages him to stay close to Harry's broad warmth for the walk round the block to the safe house. They might have scraped the win but he knows Harry is pissed off about the clusterfuck it nearly was, and concerned about the injuries making Eggsy shivery and pale.

(Actually it's not so much the injuries and more the terror of having been the only thing between Harry and a two hundred foot drop onto the streets of Zurich, but - whatever, he clings to Harry and lets himself be guided.)

Harry lets them into the building with the same handprint scan that works the lift in the shop and walks Eggsy through until they find a couch, dim light from the moon spilling in through the windows. Eggsy is deposited there with as much care as if he was fragile heirloom china. Harry flicks his lighter on and finds battery-operated lanterns in a cupboard, switching two on and setting them on either side of the couch.

"Are you all right for a moment while I find the first aid kit?" Harry says. He reaches out and touches Eggsy's cheek, then when Eggsy nestles into the comforting touch he cups it, his fingers moving in tiny circles on Eggsy's cheekbone.

It's good, being with someone - with Harry - when he's injured. Eggsy toughs it out when he's on an op on his own, of course, but it's good to be able to sit here and trust that Harry will take care of everything. Now with Eggsy behind a safely locked door, Harry is shedding his stern, practical Galahad persona, his shoulders losing a little of the ramrod perfect bearing and his face turning soft, shadowed in the poor light with worry and fondness.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Eggsy says. He tries a smile. Actually he's the opposite of Harry: now they're all right his body is starting to protest viciously, blackness touching the edges of his vision and all of him feeling stretched and sore with flares of fire at his wrist and shoulder.

"The mains should be back on by morning," Harry says, hovering, gaze still fixed on Eggsy even though they talked about this in the car. "I'll get you home then, I promise. I don't want to risk a insecure line back to Merlin before then." He taps his glasses and grimaces; unlike Eggsy, Harry's do double duty as real glasses so he's left them on.

"I know," Eggsy assures him. "We'll be fine tonight, Harry. I'm not that bad off."

Harry makes a face that tells Eggsy how bloody awful he must look, then shakes his jacket off his shoulders with an economical elegance of movement and drapes it carefully over Eggsy's uninjured shoulder and round his back. Eggsy pulls it close around him clumsily: the extra warmth is nice - no heating with no leccy - but it smells of Harry and that's nicer.

Eggsy shuts his eyes and leans carefully against the back of the couch. It’s not very comfortable: feels a bit new and not broken in. Kingsman has shitloads of these houses and all of them just wait to be used once or maybe twice a year. This one smells sterile and clean and he feels a momentary wistfulness for the homeliness of Harry’s house, Harry’s and Eggsy’s now, with JB and Harry’s unmatchy crockery and Eggsy’s trainers collection. He sets his mind on Harry’s butterflies, going through the frames one by one and enumerating the specimens inside, a trick Harry taught him to take his mind off pain.

“Eggsy?” Harry says quietly and he opens his eyes, tries to come forward off the couch again and bites back a yell as it jars his shoulder.

“All right,” Harry rushes forward, sits next to him and puts a hand on his back, easing him straighter up. “Take it easy, Eggsy. There you go.” 

He takes Eggsy’s right arm in his hands. Such nice big capable hands; Eggsy loves his hands. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, sounding amused. His teeth flash in the dim yellow pools from the flashlights.

“Did I say that out loud?” Eggsy says.

“You did,” Harry says. “It’s not the first time you’ve complimented my hands in extremis, darling, I quite like it.” He leans in and gives Eggsy a soft kiss to the temple, lingering there and taking a couple of deep breaths like he wants to be close too, even though Eggsy’s been sweating with exertion and pain and knows he’s none too sweet at the moment.

Then Harry becomes businesslike again. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt,” he says, poised with disinfectant - Eggsy can’t see the bottle very well but he can bloody smell it, reminiscent of playgrounds and hospital corridors - over the stinging painful scrapes and furrowed flesh of his wrist.

“Don’t tell me when, then,” Eggsy orders, and shuts his eyes against the troubled expression on Harry’s face. 

He grunts through gritted teeth when the stinging liquid splashes over the lacerations, jerks helplessly and then shouts when that movement jars his shoulder and shoots white-out pain through his body. He feels Harry’s leg press against his, and groans at a second hit of the disinfectant, feeling the bleeding start again, sluggish. “It’s going to get worse than this,” Harry says, his voice strained, and then there’s blissful cold on the sharp pain of his wrist, Harry wrapping a compress around it and securing it quickly with tape.

He can’t help panting, even though he knows it’s upsetting Harry. He flexes his fingers in Harry’s general direction until Harry gets the message and takes his hand, cautiously, keeping Eggsy’s wrist steady.

“You’re fine,” Harry says. He leans back in to Eggsy and Eggsy feels a ragged breath stirring the hair falling over his forehead. “Eggsy. Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“‘S’okay,” Eggsy murmurs. It feels like some of the pain leaches away just from the sweetness of Harry’s lips on his skin, remembering with pride that if he’s hurt it was because he did his job well, _their_ job: he’d saved Harry’s life, nailed the op, done Harry proud.

“Shoulder, now,” Harry says reluctantly. “It’s going to be very unpleasant, but I’m worried about nerve damage if we wait -”

“Don’t tell me, Jesus,” Eggsy says again. “Whatever you think, yeah? Trust you. Just get on with it.”

“There’s some good painkillers,” Harry promises; his fingers had clenched tightly around Eggsy’s when Eggsy said he trusted Harry. “When it’s done, if you can eat some soup, then you can have some pills. It’ll be easiest if you lie down,” he says, sliding to his knees and helping lower Eggsy onto his back, supporting the injured arm on the open side of the couch, nearest Harry.

“Ooh, nurse,” Eggsy jokes weakly, and Harry flickers a smile at him.

Eggsy draws a gulping painful breath into the back of his throat when he’s flat, his back hitting the seat of the couch, and next thing Harry’s mouth is on his. Even hurt Eggsy is up for kissing Harry, even _dead_ he’d be hungry to kiss Harry, so he kisses back, letting himself fall gratefully into the sensation of Harry’s lips moving on his.

“You needn’t be brave, darling boy,” Harry says quietly, almost whispering it into his ear. “Shout if you like. I’m going to do it as quick as possible.”

“Okay,” Eggsy whispers back. 

Next he knows, he’s swimming back up to groggy consciousness. He’s still on his back, his ankles hooked over the high arm of the sofa, and soft, shaking fingers are stroking his forehead.

“... What,” he says. His vision resolves slowly back to the poorly lit living room, Harry looking serious, crouched next to him.

“You passed out for a minute,” Harry says, his voice hushed. “Just lie still for a bit.”

“Done?” 

“All done,” Harry says. His fingers are rhythmic and pleasant and Eggsy closes his eyes again. His shoulder is throbbing and he feels a bit sick with pain but the wrongness of the injury is gone; his body feels controllable again. “Can you move, Eggsy? I want to get you put to bed.”

“Then pills?” Eggsy says.

“If you can eat just a bit,” Harry says coaxingly. “I’ll bring you something up.”

“You in bed too?”

“Yes. Once you’re settled.”

Eggsy thinks about it. “Yeah, all right.”

They make a wobbly, slow way up the stairs, most of Eggsy’s weight squashed on Harry on the narrow passage, the lantern casting a staggering light as it bumps up the stairs in the crook of Harry’s other arm. The bed looks small and has fussy proper sheets and blankets instead of a normal duvet, but it’s flat and beddy and Eggsy almost cries with happiness to see it, exhaustion overwhelming him abruptly.

There’s a brief, never-to-be-mentioned-again stop in the bog and then Harry undresses Eggsy efficiently, nothing like the playful way they usually do, helps take his shirt off gently over his shoulder and the wrist, and then unbuttons the trousers so Eggsy can step out of them.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” he says, settling Eggsy onto the bed with the covers pulled demurely up to mid-chest and propping the pillow behind him. He takes the cold compress off Eggsy’s wrist and adds a chemical cold pack to Eggsy’s shoulder which numbs it nicely but also makes him goose-pimpled and miserable.

“No fucking danger,” Eggsy says peevishly. Everything hurts and he wants a cold bath and a warm bath and JB snuffling and whining to get up with them onto their own big comfortable bed. He’s a horrible patient; he doesn’t care.

He drifts for a bit while Harry is downstairs, listening to him clang about purposefully loudly so Eggsy knows he’s still there. He tries to keep his mind on other things and off feeling sorry for himself with his poor battered body.

Off the moment he’d thrown out his arm, desperate, noise of shattering glass in his ears, Harry’s body falling down his, and grabbed his hand, held Harry’s life there in his sweaty slipping hurting grasp.

He goes back to the language lists he was looking at earlier, muttering through a simple shopping list in French, then German, then Arabic.

“Hühnersuppe,” Harry says, coming back in; he’s found a tray somewhere and has a bowl, crackers, two bottles of water, a couple of power bars, another lantern, more icepacks and bandages. Eggsy’s gaze comes to rest greedily on the two small white pills on the corner of the tray.

“Campbell’s?” he says hopefully.

“Of course,” Harry says, mock affronted: Kingsman always stocks safe houses with homely, comforting supplies.

Eggsy spends a moment in silent communion with his middle. “I’m not very hungry.”

“I know,” Harry says. “Just something to keep your strength up and line your stomach.” He puts the tray on the bedside table and sits on the bed, reaching for Eggsy’s injured wrist and holding it, fingers stroking the unharmed skin as he turns it and checks the injury. Then he bandages it with practiced movements. The tight grip of the bandage feels good around the soreness and Eggsy finds he relaxes a bit, feels slightly better as loosening up takes the strain he hadn’t really noticed off his shoulder as well.

Harry holds the bowl in his own lap and hands Eggsy a spoon. “Can you manage?”

Eggsy does a couple of practice swoops with the hurt wrist and says, “Yeah. Can you crumble up some crackers in it, please?”

“If you like,” Harry balances the bowl neatly and picks up some crackers from the plate by the bed, breaking them up into regular little pieces and dropping them into the soup. “Does this remind you of being a child?”

“What, chicken soup?” Eggsy says. He takes a taste; it’s fine but distinctly unappetising, although he can already feel his stomach settling down. He forces another bite, gets into a rhythm, slurping a bit because Harry is obviously feeling coddling and just tilts an eyebrow at him and lets him get away with it. “Nah. Beans on toast, Mum used to make me when I was poorly. You know the one with the little sausages in?”

“I do.”

“Why?” Eggsy says, curiosity overtaking the aches and pains, which is probably what Harry intended, the conniving bugger; he doesn’t talk much about his childhood. “Is chicken soup what you had?”

“Not when I was little, no. Nanny April used to make rice pudding. Tristan actually does a very good chicken soup. He says it’s because he makes his stock with three sets of bones.”

Eggsy wrinkles his nose up. “Sounds great.”

“There’s some in the freezer at home, I think. You can try it.”

“Okay,” Eggsy says. The bowl is about halfway finished and he’s chased all the bits of cracker round and eaten them. He doesn’t feel better, exactly, but he does feel a bit less worse. He wriggles his arse a bit further under the covers. “Can I have the pills now?”

Harry casts a critical eye over the soup, then nods. Eggsy opens his mouth and Harry rolls his eyes and pops the pills straight in, then holds the bottle up for him to take several healthy swigs. Eggsy feels better just knowing he’s taken some painkillers but now he’s done with the food he’s starting to get the nagging feeling of a bad night’s sleep ahead.

“Come to bed?” he says.

“In a moment,” Harry says. He takes the cold pack off Eggsy’s shoulder and runs light fingers over the swelling, seeming satisfied enough with what he feels there. 

Then he gets up and starts stripping off himself and Eggsy gasps out loud when his shirt comes off. “What!” Harry says, swings round instantly and leans over Eggsy, his hand going instinctively to cup Eggsy’s cheek. “Eggsy, are you all right -”

“Harry, you’re _hurt_ ,” Eggsy says, his whole body feeling tight with misery and regret. “I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry -”

Harry’s not in quite as bad a shape as Eggsy, but of course he’d had the drop just the same and his shoulders are bruised and swollen, his side red where he’d swung into the side of the building.

“Nonsense,” Harry says. “I saw to myself in the kitchen when the soup was heating up, I’m quite all right.” He smiles down gently at Eggsy and Eggsy looks up into his handsome, world-weary lovely face and feels choked up with how lucky he is, that this is the man who decided to love him. “I’m afraid you had the worst of it, my darling. Thank you for letting me look after you, you’ve been very patient.”

And that’s the essence of gentlemanliness that Eggsy still doesn’t always quite feel right down to his core, although he’s learning: that way Harry has of making it seem like Eggsy’s doing him a favour, when Eggsy’s the one who’d be lost without him.

“Come to bed,” he says again, his voice rough, and - yeah, there it is again, Harry just knows what he needs, slips into bed behind Eggsy and arranges Eggsy between his legs and lying against his chest. Eggsy’s shoulder is supported and he’s comfortable and warm, he won’t move too much in the night and jar his shoulder - and he won’t wake from any nightmare that comes of Harry falling without Harry’s body already aligned to his, Harry’s breathing already in his ear.

“All right?” Harry says. He kisses Eggsy’s cheek, nuzzles at his hair.

“Yeah,” Eggsy says. Harry’s hand finds his and Eggsy weaves their fingers together and snuggles into Harry’s chest, feeling the approaching waves of chemical sleep. “Yeah. I reckon we’re all right.”

~

**5.00am**

The bedside lamp hums on with a dim light, city coming back to life after yesterday’s dramatics. Right on cue the landline phone on the other side of the room starts to ring loudly, half-waking Eggsy from the fitful sleep he’s been in and out of all night; Harry soothes his boy back against his chest, murmuring and cosseting Eggsy back down until his pained grumbles quiet.

Then he shoots the bloody thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Miss Becky: I hope you enjoyed the story! I tried to combine a couple of your prompts but it was a late pinch hit so I apologise for the action stuff being a bit dodge; hopefully the h/c hit the spot.


End file.
